Pick Your Poison (Rough DraftHeadcannon)
by tswift1fan
Summary: Two words; Allison Lockwood. Ever heard of her? Of course not. No one remembers her. Woof Glance, District 8. Sounds familiar? Of course he does. He's the winner of the thirteenth Hunger Games. So, why are these people important? Simple: They're about to become the Capitol's biggest secret. And that says something. Headcannon.
1. Prologue

**IMPORTANT NOTE FOR PEOPLE WHO HAVE ALREADY READ FIRST CHAPTER: I'VE REWRITTEN IT AND **_**HIGHLY**_** RECOMMEND YOU REREAD. THINGS MIGHT NOT MAKE SENSE IN LATER CHAPTERS AND THIS VERSION HAS MORE BACKSTORY. THANKS! **

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**Pick Your Poison**  
><strong>A Hunger Games FanFiction<strong>  
><strong>By tswift1fan<strong>

**O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O**

_**Prologue**_

Two words. Allison Lockwood. Ever head of me? Of course you haven't. No one has. Not in a long, long time. Little did I know, I was about to become part of the biggest Capitol secret ever. Woof Glance, District 8. He sound familiar? Of course he does. He was the victor of the 13th Hunger Games. Even though we're from the same district, I know something he doesn't. Something that will change the future. A spark.

The end of my life started the morning of the reaping day. I woke up to find my older brother shaking my shoulders. "Wake up!" He said in a hushed voice. "We're going to be late because of you."

"Sorry," I whisper back. "What time is it?"

"Eight thirty."

"Eight thirty?!" I almost yell. He hushes me by putting a finger to his mouth. "Why did you wait till eight thirty to wake me?"

"I thought you were tired. You stayed up really late last night with Woof and Lynlie."

"Either way, I need more than a half hour to get ready."

"Then you'd better get started."

I ushered him out of our shared room so I could get dressed. I searched our closet for my mother's old dress I wear to every reaping.

In District 8, district for clothing and cloth, our clothing is actually quite nice. But the dress I pull over my head is old, tattered, and stained with smoke and grime. I would wash it, maybe sew it back together, but my drunken father will never pay for water, let alone buy a washer. The few clothes I have to wear, like my school uniform, I wash in the creek behind our house.

I'm sure the house was once nice when my mother was alive, but I don't remember it. My brother and I are far too busy to bother with cleaning; our old grandmother lives up on the hill, but she is soon to pass on. We try hard to take care of her, walking to her house every day after school and making her tea and whatnot, but we can't afford medical treatment. We get small checks at the end of every month for my father's retirement, but other than that my brother and I have to get tesserae.

Wyatt reenters the room with a small plate of toast. I used to wonder what the richer people in the district eat for breakfast, but I gave up. He stuffs one of the pieces into his mouth, and I do the same.

"Wake up dad?" I ask in through a mouth of food. He nods.

"Accidently dropped a log too loud in the fire." He replies once he swallows a bite.

"Ah," I say as I finish my toast. It's plain; we can't even afford butter. He grabs the plate and tries to be stealthier as he exits the room. I stand and, pointlessly, dust off the dress. I look into the grimy, broken mirror and stare into the empty expression. My friend, Woof, once told me that I was a beauty in disguise. My light blue eyes and golden hair hidden by my rough skin and emotionless complexion. If I tried to be pretty like some girls in this district, I'm sure I could succeed. I do have a delicate figure. I'm also short and 'petite' I've been called.

I walk out of the room after lacing up my boots. Wyatt waves me over and we ever so quietly exit the small house. Actually, it's more of a shack.

We walk down the empty street, where it's covered with dust and grime and there isn't a blade of grass in sight. I imagine District 11. I wonder what it's like to see a tree any way you turn. Must be nice.

We make it towards the center of the district, where it's much nicer and more refined than the hell hole we live in. The pathways are swept clean and everyone is dressed in _much _nicer clothes than us. I realize I forgot to pull my hair into a bun after brushing it. Oh well.

I wordlessly get into the girls' line where I receive a few stairs from the richer people in the district. I resist the urge to glare back, retorting that not everybody gets a perfect family, both their parents, running water, and more to eat than plain toast and the occasional nuts.

But I simply stare back, hoping not to come off miserable, but hoping also not to come off above them. I clearly am not.

I finally am first in line and the peacekeeper smears my blood onto a piece of paper next to my name. I then sign the paper and walk to the girls' section where many girls wear better clothes than me and sit with their backs straighter and heads up high, where they show off their obvious make-up. They show off how naturally gorgeous they are. It isn't hard to find Lynlie.

The dark-skinned girl waves me over frantically. I smile seeing she only looks slightly better than me. Her dress is equally horrifying but she at least washed her face and did her hair. I sit next to her and she giddily hugs my shoulders for a brief moment.

Honestly, I don't know how she could be this happy and this perky at the reaping. But I know her name won't be called; it's only in three times. Even though we're both fifteen and live in a lower community of the district, but her five older siblings get tesserae because they no longer have to worry about the reaping.

But, my brother and I _do _have to worry about the reaping. My name is in thirty-two times and his is twenty-nine. The odds are definitely not in our favor.

Gemma Jetson, our tribute spokesperson, taps the microphone on the makeshift stage, silencing everyone in the square.

"Welcome!" She cheers, fake smile plastered on her face. The silence is piercingly loud, making me cringe – which doesn't even make sense; it's silence. No noise is heard as Gemma stands tall on shoes that look like they could be weapons. "Welcome to the Thirteenth Annual Hunger Games!" She says in an overly-excited voice. No one replies with cheers or smiles. The only thing to be heard is the shaky breaths of every person here.

"I have a surprise for you," she says. "A video from the capitol! Let us watch!" She turns to a large screen behind her and a video plays about the rebellion no longer than thirteen years ago. I've only seen it three times, but I'm so sick of the words declaring the Capitol as some hero.

The video finishes and Gemma turns back with a mask of admiration. Or was it a mask? She wears so much make up it's hard to tell. She does the traditional 'ladies first' and crosses the stage to a large glass bowl filled with paper slits. I gulp as I realize thirty-two slits are mine. She grabs one at random and struts back to the microphone.

The suspense is killing me. I wouldn't know what it would be like to watch this without risk of being called. My mother died when I was four years old, and my brother wouldn't allow me to go to the reapings before I was twelve. He says he didn't want me to see him get chosen. I was nine for his first reaping, and I was so relieved when he walked through the door of our house at noon. My father had left, saying he was unable to bare the thought of losing his son to the Capitol. That was the day he started drinking. He became a drunken and now could care less if we were chosen. I feel sad about that thought because I love my father, truly. Deep down in his heart I know he loves my brother and I as well, but his drunken state will probably never let him find that love.

My muse is interrupted when everyone suddenly looks at me and my breath baits. I'm paralyzed as Lynlie hugs my shoulders and cries. She says something between tears, but I don't hear it. I don't hear anything. I can't move, but somehow my body unwillingly stands, and I vaguely remember Lynlie curling up into a ball and wailing.

I also remember myself walking up the stage. I don't remember the thoughts going through my mind or the looks on my friend or brother's faces. I don't remember climbing the steps or standing next to Gemma, but I suddenly wake from my paralyze and find myself there. I gasp loudly for breath because I realize I was holding my breath. I look at everyone staring at me, trying to recognize me from school or work, but no one does.

I search frantically for my brother in the crowd but try to hold back tears as I realize he is no where to be found. I don't have the guts to search for Lynlie or Woof, so I look promptly at the ground, blinking rapidly to stop tears trying to spill. I was chosen as tribute and my brother isn't even here to see it, reassure me, or stop it from happening.

Gemma reads a boy's name I do not recognize and a unremarkable boy steps on stage next to me. I feel like collapsing from fear and confusion, and when I look at the boy next to me I realize he must be feeling the same thing.

"Are there any volunteers?" Asks Gemma, but I am too shocked to mock her fakeness or funny accent. She is about to announce us as the official tributes when I hear a voice.

"I volunteer," The person says, and I don't bother to look up until they've joined me on stage. I feel like collapsing when I realize who it is.

It is Woof.


	2. Chapter 1

AN: Hi all. So just to make this short and sweet, this story is a rough draft. I'm making up the plot as I go along. A head cannon basically. When this 'rough draft' is finishes, I'll write the real story. This is probably gonna be pretty boring. Just thought I should clear that up. Enjoy ;)

Chapter 1  
>..<p>

I am suddenly ushered into a small room and am locked in. I have no idea why I'm here, so I curl up onto a couch and cry. Warm tears flood my eyes and rush down my cheeks as I wonder how on earth I was chosen. I'm a normal teenage girl. Why on earth would I get chosen? I am the rundown, poor, filthy child with a shack for a home and a drunken for a father. I wear grungy, torn clothing and have never seen a tree in my life.

I look up in shock as I realize I am not alone. Someone has entered the room while I was having my tantrum. It is Wyatt. I resist the urge to shout at him and call him names for not being there when I needed support. He holds his arms out, and I rush to him and hug him, staining his shirt with my tears. He rubs circles into my back.

"Wh-where were you?" I ask through sobs.

"I… couldn't… I just had to leave." He says shakily.

"How did you not get caught."

"When you were walking to the stage, everyone's eyes were on you. I found the perfect time to leave."

"I needed your help!" I shout, pulling away. He winces at my sudden outburst. A peacekeeper opens the door and tells us our time is up and Wyatt kisses me on the forehead and leaves, telling me to be safe. He tells me to make a statement on our little district of clothing. He tells me to win.

My next visitor is Lynlie, and she practically tackles me with a hug, and we cry on each other. She gives me a small leather bracelet. I look into her dark brown eyes that are welled with tears.

"I have to see Woof before visiting time is up," she says between shaky sobs and shallow breaths. "Take this. Your token." I nod and we hug once more before a Peacekeeper ushers her out and I am once again alone.

My next visitor is very unexpected; it is my grandmother. I don't remember seeing her at the reaping, but she tells me she made quite a fit. She gives me a small bag of strange biscuit things that she calls cookies. I take a bite of one and realize they are incredibly sweet and delicious. I have never eaten such a luxury in my life. When our time is up she promises me I will walk away alive from this and hugs me.

After she leaves, I half expect to see my father come. I know he loves me, but deep down I know he's passed out on the recliner. I know wanting him to come is pushing my luck, but I also know that's not very much to begin with. I am brutally awakened when a peacekeeper comes and tells me I have no more visitors.

I am brought to a train where I see Woof. Once we are on the train, he hugs me, which is unexpected. Even though we are nearly best friends, I have never really hugged anyone before. I couldn't help but notice how we… fit.

I chide myself from inside that now is no time to be acting girlishly over a boy.

"Why did you volunteer?" I ask finally. The train could start moving at any moment and push us over, but neither of us seem to care.

"I… I had to protect you." He says. My breath slightly catches, and I hope he doesn't notice. I may or may not have a crush on him, but there is a one out of twenty-four chance one of us will make it out alive, let alone fall in love or anything of the sort.

"Thanks…" I finally say. We pull apart awkwardly and my drift my eyes to something else because I don't have the courage to look him in the eye. I realize how incredibly fancy and luxurious the train is. Crystal ornaments, lush furniture, even potted plants (I have never seen nature in my entire life). A lush buffet table is at the far end of the room, but eating anything now is enough to make me vomit.

Gemma Jetson climbs onto the bus and she is not nearly as bubbly and happy as she was on stage a few moments ago.

"You two should sit down." She says rather rudely. "Once this thing starts going you two will fall onto your faces."

We oblige and sit on a couch which is the comfiest thing I have ever felt in my life. I resist falling asleep and try to focus. Some of the districts have "mentors," which are previous victors that give them advice on staying alive. I am rather disappointed when I realize that District 8 has never won before, so therefor we have no mentor. I guess I will have to rely on my own skills.

I eye the strange pastries on the table. I have never seen one in real life before. They look so strange. They're mostly just rolls with frosting and things of the sort on them. I want to try one, but I feel shy and awkward around Gemma. I've never met someone from the capitol before. They dress strange, talk strange, and just live strange in general.

I avert my eyes away from Gemma and the pastries and turn them to the window. Everything outside flies by in a grey and green blur. I wish that we could slow down. I want to see nature before I die. I want to do so much that I wasn't able to fit into fifteen years.

I shake my head to rid the memory. There is a small, little, tiny chance of me coming out alive. It is very tiny, and the imagination is supposed to fill me with hope, but it makes me feel like lead. Even if I did win, I would have to live the rest of my life a murderer. The sickening part is that people would call me a champion. A victor. But I would label myself a murderer. I don't know if I have the guts or bravery to kill someone, even in self-defense.

I know I couldn't is the sad part. If someone was coming at me with a sword or knife I know I would be paralyzed. Not paralyzed with fear though. Paralyzed with knowing that I can't win if I live or die.

I look up to find everyone staring at me. "What?" I croak.

"I asked you a question." Gemma says in an irritated voice.

"I-I'm sorry, could you repeat yourself?" I try to ignore her rude tone by responding politely.

"I asked you if you two knew each other." She snapped, crossing her arms and legs at the same time. Her longs poofy hair fell over her shoulder pads. I will never understand the Capitol's sense of style.

"Um, yes. Why?" I say, still trying and failing to sound polite.

"Oh, just wondering. So do you children have any idea what you're doing?" She spits the word 'children' like it is a disgusting room. Luckily, Woof saves the day before I snap and slap the woman.

"Not really," he says. "We don't have a mentor like some of the other districts." I expect Gemma to nod knowingly and try to give us some advice from at least pity, but she just scowls.

"How unfortunate." She snarls. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to help calm myself die. There is no chance of me living. I am going to die. "You two are wearing hideous outfits. I suppose I should show you to your rooms so you can change and whatnot." She says, standing on her lethal shoes.

We follow her down the cars until one is just a hall with a door on either side.

"The one on the left," she continues. "Is for the girl. The right is for you. Dinner is in three hours. You better be there. You will be meeting someone important."

She turns around and struts through the door back to the first room we were in. Woof looks at me and I can't help but feel the tension between us.

"I'll see you in a few hours." He says. I try to say "yeah," but I can't find my voice. I nod and look away, going towards the left door. There is a makeshift sign on the door that reads, "Allison Lockwood." It looks like it was scribbled on just a few minutes ago. I look behind myself and see that Woof's has his name on his door as well. What is the point in that? So we don't get confused? Or is it that the peacekeepers want to know which room is ours?

I shake my head as I push open the door. What a stupid thought.

The room is worth my entire neighborhood; which doesn't say much. My neighborhood is the trashy part of the district. The bed has orange bedding just like some other things in the room. It has an unnecessary amount of decorations. Well, maybe not an unnecessary amount. I always think décor is unnecessary, so I always declare any amount an unnecessary.

I walk into another door in the room and find a bathroom. It has glassy white tiles for flooring and walls. There are strange buttons by the showerhead that I want to play with. I walk back into the bed room and open a closet. There are orange tank tops and grey cargo pants varying in sizes. I grab some with a mark '15' on the tag. I assume that I should take it because of my age because the numbers go from twelve to eighteen.

I slip off my leather lace up boots and socks and step onto the cold tiles. There are at list five light switches, and I'm afraid that one of them might make the train explode or something. I decide that the sun light from the window will have to do for lighting. I toss the clothing onto the counter and undress. I stare at my nude body in the mirror. I wonder why I should pamper myself when I'm about to die. It's sick.

After my shower I change into the outfit I picked and pull my hair into a bun. I would check the time, but I didn't check the time when I first got here. How should I know how much time has passed. I open a drawer to find it full of white socks. I have never seen anything so white; not even snow.

I reluctantly grab a pair to find them incredibly soft. I almost want to rub them on my face, but I resist. I sit down on my bed to pull them on, but am interrupted by the incredible comfort of it. Softer than even the couch in the other room. I shake my head at the luxury and pull the socks on. The threads intertwined in them are better made than anything I have ever seen. Or felt.

I lay all the way down onto the bed and let it fold around me. I can't imagine how it feels to sleep on this every night. I don't remember falling asleep, but I am awoken by a sharp knock on my door. My eyes snap open and I pull myself up.

"Yes?" I croak through my groggy voice.

"It's time for dinner." A voice I don't recognize says through the door. I hear footsteps start and fade and I slip my shoes back on. I can't bring myself to part with them; they were my mother's.

I walk into the hall where I see Woof has been waiting.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," I respond. The tension returns and I don't know if I can break it before we're in the arena. He laces his fingers in mine and leads me to the table. I blush when I realize he's holding my hand. I chide myself, thinking it's just a friendly gesture, that he's just trying to make me feel comfortable. I wish I could be as good as a friend as he and Lynlie are.

I sit next to him and see Gemma has already dug into her food. I stare at my plate and see that it is this yellow, creamy sauce covering some noodles. Sided with a bun and green beans. I take a fork at random and try a bite of the noodles. I find them a cheesy deliciousness and can barely use my manners as I wolf the food down.

"So, where is this person we're supposed to meet?" Asks Woof as I take a bite into the fluffy bread.

"She'll be here soon." Gemma responds. I want to get this over with. I am so exhausted I just want to go back to sleep. As I am about to excuse myself a door opens and a girl with long, black curly hair enters the room. She looks a few years older than me and wears the oddest of make-up.

Her eye-lashes are inhumanly long and dark, and her make-up is also dark, with black lip stick, black and purple eye shadow, and pale glittery blush. Her skin is as white as ivory and her clothing is black. She has her own Capitol look to her, but she looks remotely normal compared to other Capitol people.

"Oh, there you are! Finally here to meet our tributes!" Says Gemma, clapping her hands together enthusiastically. "Everyone, this is Elizabeth. Liz, this is Woof Glance and Allison Lockwood."

"First off," Elizabeth says, her voice flat toned and emotionless. "Don't call me 'Liz.' My name is Elizabeth. Only my friends are allowed to call me Liz or Beth. Second off, I already know who they are. Who didn't watch the reapings?"

I resist to smile as Gemma makes a pathetic face of being corrected.

"Why are you here?" Woof asks as I finish my bun.

"I'm here to teach you about sponsers because Gemma is too lazy and rude to figure it out."

Gemma's face turned bright red as she walked off and slammed the door behind her. Elizabeth smirked as the door hit the frame. She sits at the table across from Woof and I.

"So, you guys want to learn about survival?" She asks, popping a piece of roll into her mouth from Gemma's plate. Woof nods with excitement, but I stay statue still. Sure, I'm eager to find out how to win the Hunger Games, but at the same time, I'm going to die anyway.

"Alright, rule one) get people to like you. You need sponsors. Sponsors will give you an advantage in the game when you need help," she says between mouthfuls of bread. "Rule 2) play weak. If you act all tough in training, the real competition will go after you. If you act weak, they won't see you as a threat. Rule 3) Show your real skills in the private session of training. That's where you earn sponsors." The whole time she speak, Woof nods knowingly. I wonder if he'll win. He's strong and smart, but I don't know if he has any fighting skills. Training will probably help him. Maybe.

I turn to my window, seeing that the sun is setting. I am so tired, but I should probably stay awake. I should probably stop zoning out and listen to what Elizabeth is saying. I turn back to her to see she is leaving. I think I got the basics, but I have probably missed something important. I sigh out loud and hang my head back. I am going to be the cause of my own death. I turn my head to see Woof staring at me expectantly. "What?" I ask.

"I said, are you going to team with me." He repeats. I never thought of that. And I'm not sure I would want to. If we team, one of us is going to die. It would just be harder. But at the same time, if we could protect each other, I could help Woof win.

I don't know what made me decide I would rather give my life for Woof, but I know it wouldn't feel right. The only people I have to live for are Wyatt and Lynlie. Lynlie would be happier if Woof won, and Wyatt probably won't even watch the game. He didn't even watch me at the reaping. How'd he even escape without any Peacekeepers seeing him? And what if his name was called? He could get arrested and even persecuted for not being at the reaping.

"I'll think about it." I say, standing and going back to my room. When I open the door, I immediately notice that something in the room has been touched and/or moved. I scan my eyes around the room, looking for the mystery item. I find it. Someone has put the wooden bracelet Lynlie gave me on the center of the bed. My laundry remains askew on the floor and the bed still has the crease from where I lay a moment earlier.

I grab the bracelet and slip it onto my wrist. I can't imagine who would come into my room just to move my bracelet. But, at the same time, I am too tired to think about it. So much has happened today. It has been an emotional roller coaster. I just want to sleep. Who knows? Maybe I won't wake back up?

With that happy thought in mind, I fall onto the bed and fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.


End file.
